The Third Seal

by Sean Deville

  In 2001, several news organisations and two United States Democratic senators were sent letters containing anthrax powder. That caused several deaths and required a two-year clean-up operation at the cost of hundreds of millions of dollars, all for a few buildings. The problem with anthrax was not only its lethality, but also the hardiness of the bacterial spores. Rome received far worse than that, hit in multiple locations via coordinated and sustained aerial drop. Thousands of people had inhaled the bacteria, and whole areas of the city were thoroughly contaminated by the deadly pathogen.

  To give the unaware an idea of what the population were faced with, the leaders of Rome only needed to look at Gruinard Island, a small Scottish island measuring two kilometres by one. In 1942, the British government, in the middle of a war with Nazi Germany, decided it would be a thoroughly good idea to use this useless rock to test anthrax. The whole island became contaminated and was deemed off limits to humans for decades. When it was eventually cleaned up, two hundred and eighty tonnes of formaldehyde in solution had to be sprayed across a hundred and ninety hectares, followed by most of the topsoil being physically removed.

  Gruinard Island was uninhabited. Imagine what a city the size of Rome was going to have to endure.

  The terrorists had also been very clever. By mixing anthrax with Cobalt 60, they knew there was a good chance the second element to the attack might go undetected. With everyone concentrating on treating anthrax, through antibiotics and emergency vaccinations, the radioactive mix would slowly be contaminating the whole city, including the hospitals and the medical staff treating the sick patients.

  The city of Rome, home to the heart of the Catholic Church, began to die.

  ***

  Cardinal Esposito sat in the hospital bed, the ache in his body a torment he knew he could endure. He had received the diagnosis, most of Vatican City evacuated and abandoned except for men and women in hazmat suits. There was also news that the Pope himself had fallen ill, a devastating blow to a billion Catholics across the planet.

  Esposito had no doubt in his mind that this was the work of Satanic forces. Through the Vatican intelligence network, he was well aware of the confession made to the FBI by the Iranian terrorist. There were also rumours coming out of Tehran that the Iranian Defence Minister was showing very clear signs of demonic possession. Unfortunately, there was no Inquisitor network within Iran, the ever-watchful eyes of the Catholic Church mostly absent from that country. The possessed man in question had also made sure to make no televised appearances, nor had he made any public addresses. Instead the crafty demon worked behind the scenes, staying away from possible prying eyes. Was this a prudent precaution by a man who was wary of being a target for the Saudi Arabians, or was it a demon wanting to keep its secret from the world?

  The demon occupying the British Home Secretary had been detected because it had made the mistake of appearing on national television, the darkness spotted by the curious eyes of the spies the Catholic Church had spread across the globe. If there was a demon in charge of Iran’s military, there was no real way to independently verify that fact. But if true, it meant Satan had fired an opening salvo in an escalation of the conflict the Inquisition had been engaged in for over a thousand years. This was no longer an irritating incursion by the denizens of Hell. This risked turning into a full-on invasion.

  The Pope had managed to get his warning out to the world, but now the head of the Catholic Church was rapidly dying.

  The demons had been smart, manipulating humanity against themselves. There was no telling how far their influence stretched. For so long the Inquisition had been fighting a war of attrition against the demonic foot soldiers who managed to find a way through the gaps between Hell and the Earth. Rarely did they have to deal with anything more powerful than a Duke of Hell. That was changing now, the most destructive demons stepping into the human realm, claiming those with power for their own nefarious uses.

  The Inquisition was there to police the errant escapees from Hell. They were not designed to fight a war of such magnitude. They simply didn’t have the numbers.

  With those worrying facts and the attack on Rome, there was no doubt that this was the beginning of the End Times. And as crazy as that sounded, that meant the Inquisition and those who led it had a dilemma to deal with. The coming apocalypse had been decreed, prophesised in countless texts. Most of the world’s religions warned about it, a chance for the faithful to ascend to bliss, leaving the rest of the world’s population to the dark forces.

  Esposito looked at the saline drip hanging beside his bed. The machines he was connected up to told the world he was still alive, but how long would he remain so? People were dying from the anthrax, those with already frail bodies and immune systems unable to fight the bacillus off. Despite how ill he felt, it didn’t stop him doing what his position demanded. Esposito was here to serve God, and he would do that until his dying breath.

  In his right hand he clutched a satellite phone, the shortness in his breath meaning he’d had to keep today’s conversations short. Fortunately for the Inquisition, most of their soldiers and the bureaucracy that ran them wasn’t in Rome, so despite the disastrous attack, the Inquisition would survive. Esposito could always be substituted. Nobody was ever irreplaceable. They were still an effective force, although one of their most effective resources, the Vatican Archives, would be difficult to access.

  His phone rang. Wearily Esposito picked up the device, its weight heavy in his weakened hands. There would be no rest for the wicked or the pious this day.

  “I’m listening,” Esposito said. There were very few people who had this number.

  “It is Michael,” the voice announced. Michael, the handler to nearly a dozen Inquisitors in the United States of America. “Your Eminence, I am told you are unwell.”

  “It seems so,” Esposito admitted, his throat dry and itchy. “But my health is unimportant.”

  “I will pray for your recovery and for all the souls we will lose in this tragedy.”

  “I would expect nothing more from you Michael, but this is not why you have rung.” There was a time for commiserations and condolence, but this wasn’t it.

  “Normally I wouldn’t report this so urgently,” Michael said, “but these are not normal times.”

  “Go on.”

  “One of our Inquisitors might have a lead on our most devilish adversary.”

  “You mean…” Could this be true?

  “Our Las Vegas Inquisitor detected a demon that led him to further insights.”

  “Has the demon been dispatched?” Every demon sent back to the Pit was a blessing upon the world.

  “No, Your Eminence. I have sent you everything by secure email. It is far from definite, and will need further investigation. But there is a chance the Antichrist, the Little Horn, is on the American continent.” Michael had difficulty hiding the distress in his voice. “Is it true about the Pope?”

  “Yes, Michael. It seems the Pope and I both share the same affliction.” Esposito briefly thought back to the night where he likely contracted his present ailment. There was that moment, in the presence of His Holiness, when the Pope had brushed the fine layer of dust from his shoulder.

  “These are dark days, Your Eminence.”

  “Indeed.” Esposito let out a harsh cough, blood spitting onto the pristine bed sheets. That wasn’t a good sign. “You have my authority to take whatever measures are needed to find the truth behind this.” If they could find the Antichrist, would the Inquisition be able to stop this madness? Or was the destiny of the world already set?

  There it was again, the dilemma. Should they allow the apocalypse to unfold or try and intervene? The Pope was clearly of the opinion that intervention was the way to go, and he was the infallible representative of Christ and the Lord God. It was hard not to see the contradiction there, for surely this was all destined to happen. If the apocalypse was to unfold, that was God’s will.

  Was it the Church’s pla
ce to go against that will?

  18.

  London, UK

  “I’m not sure which of us has had the weirdest day.” The bar of the private member’s club was unusually quiet, an after effect of the terrorist attack. Hargreaves didn’t mind, he preferred it like this. It had more of a feel of exclusivity when there were more staff than patrons. The residents of London were scared, and when fear owned their hearts, most people ran and hid, locking their doors, hoping the dangers of the world wouldn’t intrude on them. Those who could had left the city, the threat of being consumed in nuclear fire far from an appealing prospect.

  The rich always had options not open to those who had to work for a living.

  “I think you get the prize on that,” Cooke said. They both shared a corner booth, their conversation unheard by anyone else. Cooke wasn’t a member of the club, but Hargreaves often signed him in. They had been friends for nearly two decades, the kind of friendship that could weather virtually anything.

  “You’re probably right.”

  “How dangerous is this character who escaped?” Cooke was referring to Damien. Prior to the nuke going off, the serial killer with the split personality was at the top of the Metropolitan Police gossip tree.

  “He ploughed through those guards like they weren’t there. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Hargreaves was still amazed he hadn’t been harmed. Well, his neck was still slightly bruised from where he had been grabbed in a choke hold, but that had only been to knock him out. When he’d come to, Hargreaves had been locked in the room with the dead and the dying.

  “Sorry about your sergeant.”

  “Thanks. I feel partly responsible for that.”

  “Well that’s only natural,” reassured Cooke. “He was part of your team, and it always hits us hard when we lose one of our own.”

  “No, it’s more than that. Black shouldn’t have been there. He wasn’t the right fit. I made the mistake of giving him time rather than transferring him out and replacing him.” If Hargreaves had been given his way, he would have taken men and women from the rank and file to build his own team. The problem with building a team from veteran detective constables was the bad habits many of them had acquired over the years.

  “Still, the end result would have been the same. If not Black, it would have been someone else.” Cooke took a sip of his beer. It was foreign, with a name he couldn’t pronounce.

  “I guess you’re right. This is still going to haunt me, mate.”

  “I’m here for you,” Cooke promised. “At least you haven’t been handed a poisoned chalice.”

  “Do you think the Home Secretary did it?”

  “I know he did. Shouldn’t be too hard to prove insanity either.”

  “That should please the commissioner.” Hargreaves knew his friend would be getting pressure from on high. Most of the top brass in the Met were political appointees, there to massage the whims of politicians. There had once been a time when competence got you the job, but when that happened nowadays it was more by pure luck than actual strategic planning. Office politics, political correctness and brown-nosing were more important than one’s skill as a thief taker.

  “And don’t we both know how important it is to please her Royal Highness,” Cooke said, referencing the present leader of the London Metropolitan Police.

  “What about your other case?” Whilst Hargreaves had been on the hunt for the maniac that had led dozens of bodies gutted across the city, Cooke had been searching for a foe of another kind.

  “That’s probably where I’m going to get into trouble.”

  “You can handle yourself.” Hargreaves said the words, but did he believe them? There were too many potholes now, too many political hurdles to trip you up and too many landmines to step on. Promising careers could be ended in a flash for going against the prevailing wisdom.

  “The Home Secretary I’m not worried about. That I can deal with. It’s the shit swirling around him that’s got me worried. You remember I said I suspected a trained and well-funded assassin was at work?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I think there’s more than one.” Cooke suddenly put his bottle down and stuck his head out from the booth. He looked around to make sure nobody was eavesdropping. “If I tell you this it can’t go any further.”

  “You know me, mate.”

  “Yeah. Okay, look. Apart from being a crazed murderer, the Home Secretary told me something else.”

  “Sounds ominous.” Hargreaves needed another drink, his glass empty except for the ice. He would wait for his friend to finish though. The waiter would come over eventually when summoned.

  “I’m not sure I know what to believe. When a man tells you he killed his wife because he was possessed by a demon called Baal, you tend to question the sanity of the man saying those words.”

  “What does your gut tell you?” Any good police officer knew to trust his gut wherever possible.

  “That’s just it. He’s very convincing. According to our old boss, that accidental gas explosion in Camden the other day was anything but.”

  “Yeah, I heard that too. From what I gather, it was a deliberate explosion.”

  “It might be worse than that.” Cooke drained his glass. “Apparently it was a duel operation between our boys and MI5…only our lads didn’t know that.”

  “Well we both know you can’t trust MI5.” Hargreaves had experienced several encounters with the honourable members of the security services, none of them particularly reassuring.

  “The Home Secretary said the woman they were looking for was grabbed in tunnels beneath the house. Our boys were sent in to flush her out so that MI5 could grab her.”

  “If that’s true…”

  “There’s more. The story goes the assassin was shipped off to a black site for advanced interrogation, from which the suspect in question escaped.”

  “Fuck.” If that was true, MI5 would be in full panic mode. They would do everything to cover this up, including ruin a good officer’s career if they didn’t like where his investigation was going.

  “If this goes to trial, that’s all going to come out.” Cooke finished his beer.

  Hargreaves noticed the furrowed brow on his friend. “What are you going to do?”

  “My job, I suppose.” Cooke said it as if he was resigned to his fate.

  “You could always ask to be reassigned.”

  “I think I’ve more chance of winning the lottery. The Home Secretary won’t speak to anyone but me. I’m saddled with it.”

  “Well then, it’s clear to me that you need another drink.” Hargreaves caught the waiter’s eye. Probably something stronger than beer for his friend this time.

  Transcript of the Presidential national emergency address.

  My fellow Americans

  I sit before you with a heavy heart.

  The country we all love, the country I have sworn to honour and protect has been attacked by an enemy that hides in the shadows. Philadelphia, a city that helped birth and found our nation has been attacked. Even now our valiant first responders are pulling survivors out of the rubble and the wreckage, saving lives at great risk to their own personal well-being.

  To every one of these great men and women, you have my thanks. And to those who have lost friends and loved ones in this atrocity, my heart goes out to you. Philadelphia was a great city, and will become so once again. I give my solemn promise. With the help of Congress, I will ensure whatever funds are needed will be funnelled to make the city of Philadelphia whole again.

  We will rebuild. From the wreckage of the old we will create a monument to the tens of thousands that lost their lives to the terrorist scum who did this. And as horrific as things are, they could have been worse. This was not meant to be an attack on just one city, but on two. New York, to many the heart of our country, was also a target.

  It was through the brave and valiant efforts of agents of the FBI and Homeland Security that a second nightmare was averted.
Even now, we have terrorists in custody, the bomb they were planning to explode disarmed. It is being inspected by our experts and we will uncover who built it.

  New York is safe for now, and this administration must act to keep it that way, to keep the whole country safe from those who would harm our homeland.

  We have learnt that terrorists can hit us in our homes, on our streets and in our cities, so we must take the fight to them.

  Now is not the time for mourning. That will come later. Now is the time for revenge, for anger and for the mighty boot of America to come crashing down on those responsible. Now is the time to unleash the might of our military on those who did this. I am already working with Congress to seek the authorisation I need. To those in the House and the Senate who would stand against such action, I call you traitors to the very people who elected you. There will be no partisanship now. Today I request, no, I demand, you all come together as one political force to enact the will of the people who elected you.

  The American people demand that their voice be heard. And I as their President will ensure that they be listened to.

  I sit before you as a man who promised to keep America out of foreign wars. It saddens me to say I can no longer keep that promise.

  Through the work of the FBI and our extensive intelligence community we have learnt the identity of the perpetrators who did this. We have terrorists in custody. We have their confessions, and a list of the horrors they had planned for this great nation.

  America, and our ally Great Britain, were attacked by the so-called People's Republic of Iran, and as such a state of war exists between us.